Let Me Go
by Nawala Ang Piso Ko
Summary: Valhallarama found it hard to let Hiccup go, especially if he was obviously going to get himself killed.   A what-if snippet: Valhallarama raises Hiccup instead of Stoick


**Let Me Go**

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><p>It was a wonder how Valhallarama managed to allot a few moments to think during a time like this—a dangerous, vicious giant of a dragon was threatening to kill them all, yet she stood there and let the eerily calm breeze hit her face.<p>

Her hand was stretched out, clutching on the fabric of some clothing. It was a tight hold, one that screamed so many things—anxiety, anger, and stubbornness. The grasp on that little fabric didn't twitch even as it was pulled a few times, once gently then the next few times forcefully.

"_Mom_."

The woman kept her head down, almost as if she was trying to hide the heartbroken and pained expression on her face. She bit her lip as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the tears that are threatening to fall. A gritting of teeth commenced at the thought of showing such weakness, but she kept quiet about it.

Her will was strong. Just like her grip.

"Mom, it's okay."

She heard something low sound, something akin to an animalistic growl. It was neither aggressive nor smooth, but she paid it no heed. She kept the hand tightly gripped around the green fabric before adjusting it to grip the frighteningly slender wrist that hid underneath the cloth.

She would keep that hold, she thought to herself. She would keep it in place, tightly wound around the fragile bones; it would never be exposed to danger, to possible harm and loss. Whatever happens, whatever she hears or sees, she would never, ever, _ever_—

"Let _go_."

Valhallarama looked up then, showing her face for the first time since she left the island—she appeared uneasy, doubtful and obviously _afraid_. The auburn-haired woman kept the tears from falling down her face, but she could not hide the mistiness in her eyes. She ducked her head again, and shook it.

"No."

She heard crashing, shouting and exploding. People were panicking around her, and from a distance she could hear roaring. She winced as another explosion happened, causing her face to be tinted with bright orange light.

"I _can't_."

Valhallarama didn't want to let go of the small wrist in her tight grip. She didn't want it to fly away, up there where she knew there was a chance that it would _never come back_. What she feared would come, and she would be struck by Odin's lightning before it could happen. She would not let go of it. She would not let it soar. She would not _lose_ it.

She would not lose _him_.

Her eyes opened when she felt something warm touch her calloused hand, and she brought her head up again to inspect. She caught sight of a hand slightly smaller than hers, encasing it with shocking gentility. Her eyes trailed to an arm, a shoulder and then to the head of the young boy whose hand comforted hers.

He was smiling at her.

The boy kept his hand steady on hers. "Mom," He began with a gentle tone. His eyes bore the calmness that hers lacked. "It's going to be fine. I know what I'm doing, so you don't have to worry. Not anymore."

The woman bit her lip again and looked away. Her grip relaxed, but it still held the tiny wrist.

"How are you so sure?" She said in a soft whisper, one that lacked the usual apprehension she used when she thought that her son was getting himself into danger. "How do you know what's going to happen?"

"I don't." Her chest tightened at that, and so did her grip. "But I'd like to think that I do."

A low croon caught her ears, and she transferred her attention to the black creature her son was riding. The creature of onyx scales and acrid orbs was looking at her, a calm and docile look on its face. It wasn't the look it gave _her_ when she had attacked it.

Her son's hand suddenly gripped her own wrist, successfully grabbing her attention. She looked up to see her son with a determined and serious look on his face, one that reminded him so much of his father.

Stoick.

"Mom, you have to _trust_ me." They heard yelling from a distance. "I can _do_ this. I know I can! All you need to do is let me show you. Let me do it.

"Let me _go_."

Valhallarama's eyes widened, and she felt the stinging pain that came before the tears fell. With her lips pursed and her brows furrowed, she gave a hesitant, slow nod. With every second that passed, her grip on his wrist would loosen until finally, she no longer felt his wrist.

She let him go.

The woman brought her arms up as the wind hit her harshly. She brought them down just in time to watch the diminishing figure of her son and his dragon flying towards danger, harm and potential death. Valhallarama straightened and kept her head high, watching her son maneuver in the air like the stupid, stubborn boy he was.

But she expected no less of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III—her son.

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><p>Just a little thought that came to mind a few days ago. I had always wondered what it would be like if Valhallarama had been there instead of Stoick. I'm actually writing the full-length story, but I think it would take a while before I finally post it here. It's probably going to be long, but we'll see.<p>

So for now, here you go: a little what-if snippet :) Valhallarama seemed a little emotional here, but no matter how much of a Viking she was, let's remember that she was also a mother. :)


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